Try
by fourheads
Summary: She was a tomboy. A rowdy, persistent tomboy who loved playing with the big boys: finding a challenge and tackling it easily. Now, her greatest challenge is a man, broken and humiliated, she'll try for him. She'll try for them. [we love the CAGE]
1. An Introductive Argument

Author's Note:

So, this is my first Grey's fic and I'm a little shaky about it, but I'm keeping a positive attitude, and hopefully, you'll all enjoy it! I do believe in other pairings, but much like my GPA, my opinions on pairings such as MerDer, Izzlex, Maddison, Bang, and any variations of those listed, fluctuate regularly, so there may/may not be strong focuses on parings other than CaGe, but I definitely intend on including the other characters. Don't worry, no AU, they're all doctors in the same fields as on the show, they all still work at Seattle Grace, and I refuse to include an OC simply because I think (no offense, others writers) that they ruin the story, plotlines, and relationships that were originally meant to surface. But this doesn't mean that I can't change any of that. Except the part about OC's. Ew. No.

Btw, this is just the intro., which takes place several months (five maybe?) after the description of my story. We begin with an argument. Read! Review! Enjoy! Whatever!

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"That's it. I can't take this anymore. I've been supportive, and kind, and whatever other stupid adjective I've been for the past three days while I've kept my mouth shut, well not literally, and tolerated all of your insane fetishes and unnecessary chatter and completely random need for midnight groping parties. And for the record, George, parties involve more than _two _people. We are _two _people! Not the foxy foursome or more that a party requires." Callie paced across the room, obviously frustrated, as she threw complaint after complaint at her poor, oblivious boyfriend. George sat on his still unmade bed at the other end of the room, bringing his knees towards his stomach and comfortably resting his chin upon them.

Just as obviously as Callie was agitated, as she normally was the early morning after a night of his incessant babble during sex, George was obviously paying the least attention to whatever she was saying. He was mumbling something to himself about how he was going to be late for rounds at the hospital and would miss all the really gory, make-you-wanna-mcvomit surgeries while Callie's tone grew more strident and impatient. Finally, she stopped pacing and stood directly in front of him, her hands placed firmly on her hips. Without moving at all, George snapped his lazy green eyes out of their dream-like focus and looked into Callie's.

"Did you hear anything I just said?" she asked, tensely.

He looked away. "Hey, uh, I was thinking we could all go to Joe's tonight. I mean, you, me, Izzie, Cristina, Mered-" Callie interrupted him by placing a finger over his mouth.

"George." She said, as calmly as her temper would allow.

"Hrmph?"

"Are you deaf? Do you have a mental illness? ADD?"

"You know, I like to call it selective hearing, actually." He smiled his happy, boyish smile and looked back up at her.

George really did love Callie, but there was something that kept him from showing her, truly expressing to her that he was committed and head-over-heels in love with her. There were days when he even doubted that he could take care of her which was exactly what Callie wanted from him. Those days were the most difficult between them; when George would talk, and talk, and _talk_ to keep from having to answer her burning questions about their relationship, when he stared into space quietly as she asked him for the commitment that she so strongly desired. It was during those times when George's vulnerability and immaturity showed, and to his discomfort, Callie was always able to notice. She certainly noticed, and quite quickly and easily, picked up nearly every detail about her silly, charming boyfriend; his obsession with picking at food that he knew he wasn't supposed to touch, the more embarrassing moments when she caught him practically having late-night debate sessions with himself, and the most sentimental sides of him. And although neither of the two had come to the realization, they needed each other; they were a sort of tower of buildings blocks where occasionally one or two blocks would topple over, but the end result was always that more and more blocks would be added to the tower, making it all the more admirable and spectacular, and unfortunately, more vulnerable to crumble.

"You _know_ what I mean, George. We just can't keep having these pointless discussions if we aren't even going to _discuss_." she persisted. George groaned exaggeratedly and fell face-first into an oversized pillow, placing both arms over his frowzy mop of hair (it had been several months after Callie had successfully cut his hair after he had tried himself, and failed miserably causing him to look rather hobbit-esque, but neither of them had ever found the time to cut it recently); he couldn't miss out on an insane surgery that he could possibly lose to another intern. Especially _Christina_. His already "soft and fluffy" male ego didn't have the strength to take another blow from her sharp, painful, and even truthful wit.

Callie, giving up as she usually had to because she would be late for some bone marrow transplant or whatever, threw her arms up in the air, defeated. Although she was unable to see it as she stalked into the tiny guest bathroom of her apartment to change into her freshly-laundered scrubs, George's adorable face forced itself into a wide smile as he buried his head into the confines of his pillow.

Several minutes later:

Callie, complete with clean, dark navy scrubs and necessary notes for the day's awaited surgeries, quickly sauntered out of the bathroom, rushing to tie her mass of thick black hair into a messy ponytail. She skidded into the kitchen where she found George licking his fingers of stray peanut butter from a half-eaten sandwich that she had leftover from last night's late dinner. She would always prepare several sandwiches early in the morning if either of them had been on call the night before and had to skip dinner, which was now happening more often than not.

Callie yanked George by the arm, forcing him from his barstool and tugged him out the door of her apartment and down the fire escape.

"B-but, my sandwich-" he pleaded. George stared pathetically back at the window of Callie's apartment as they rapidly raced towards her red Volvo, parked conveniently near the entrance of her weathered apartment building.

"Callie." He stopped her, placing his hands on both of her shoulders. "We're doctors, right? So of course, our patients expect us to know about proper nutrition and healthy eating habits," Callie lifted a dark eyebrow at a total loss for words.

George went on, "Well you know, healthy eating habits do not actually include _not eating_."

"George…"

"My _sandwich_."

"Wait ... what?"

"You took me from my _sandwich_, Callie. You can't just pull a man away from his sandwich! It's like an unwritten law-" He paused. "-maybe." George smiled brightly as Callie was finding it difficult not to snort-laugh at his ridiculousness. She rolled her eyes and George pulled her into him, slightly. He gently took her face in his hands, kissed her on the cheek, and took her hand in his as he two of them continued to rush down the rusted metal chain of ladders in hopes of being able to furtively sneak into the hospital, unnoticed. The couple agreed that the last thing that they wanted was to start World War III when Dr. Bailey, their very own Nazi, would catch them sneaking into work over thirty minutes late.


	2. Dreaming With My Eyes Open Ch 1

**Author's Note:**

Holy wow. I'm really, like seriously, _seriously_ buzzing around like a freaking bee from all the positive responses I've gotten. They're all greatly appreciated and influence me to continue writing. :D

At first I was leaning toward making this a cute little one-shot, but those are _ew_ and _shiznasty_ and etc! (No 'fense ppl.) Plus the first chapter/epilogue/whatever the previous entry was supposed to be just a weird intro. that occurs a few months after the actual story begins. **_This_** **is the first actual chapter** and it fits the description of the fic. far better, just in case anyone was confused why the intro. was so much more bright and sparkly than the description.

Oh, and this story takes place right after George meets Callie for the first time. (Callie ends up setting his fractured shoulder blade after Georgie falls down the stairs out of self-pity and frustration after the Meredith incident. Which is so like him. :D) Anyways, sorry if this update was so delayed. Blame **procrastination**! Idk. 

Read! Review! Enjoy! Whatever!

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**Five Months Earlier:**

There are little things in life that most people appreciate and obsess over to the point where it can be interpreted either as loneliness or as a personality disorder; you could say that George had a little bit of both, but maybe more so the loneliness.

Despite the wise words of his newly-acquired acquaintance and orthopedic doctor, Callie –

"_Dr. O'Malley, I want you to take two Aspirin a night to relieve the pain from your injury; don't touch your shoulder, don't screw with the cast, and when you shower, wrap the cast in plastic to prevent moisture from setting in unless you're willing to wake up smelling like sewage on a hot day with an annoyingly harsh infection._"

-George had quite a bit of difficultly _not _obsessing with his shoulder. He had been injured after he fell down a flight of stairs, frustrated and humiliated that his friends had discovered what happened during his and Meredith's regrettable rendezvous.

Nonetheless, he found it almost painful refraining from touching his shoulder, poking it, rubbing it tensely, and staring at it blankly in the bathroom mirror of Christina and Dr. Burke's apartment (where he was still, and probably would be for the next forty some-odd years, staying) once they were asleep; his healing (and dishearteningly, gropingly painful) shoulder served as a constant reminder of his early encounter with Dr. Torrez, the uniquely intriguing older woman that had practically ripped it from his slumped torso not so long ago, attempting to set it back in its proper place.

Not to mention the fact that he felt a tingling rouge craw up his neck when she said "shower".

George still wasn't sure what caused his immediate attraction to "Callie" Torrez; although her natural appearance went no further than above average, especially in comparison to the interns that he worked with, there was something about her maternal nature and candid outlook on life that caught his attention. Perhaps all his sweet, boyish character needed was a caring, motherly woman. But was it really that simple?

Despite the bittersweet reality that the intoxicating reminiscence of Dr. Torrez when he looked at his injury, it also brought along a dark glimpse of Meredith, looming within his heart in too close a proximity. And though it was rather childish for a man his age, George found comfort in plainly ignoring the fact that she would always be included somewherein his life, that even the simplest activities would be performed near or with her despite his longing to be elsewhere and yet beside her at the same time. To put it simply, he blew her off

The not-so-distant memories of a cruel, heartless Meredith reminded George of lightening clouds; they would never fail to remind his unfortunate soul that they were always nearby, striking mercilessly at random, painfully sending waves of regret and depression through his chest. George had spent time with his thoughts, questioning whether his negative responses toward Meredith were justified even after the reading of the earthquake she had caused inside him had died down from a 5 to about a 4 on the Richter scale.

_5:57, Dr. Burke's Car, Driving to Seattle Grace_:

George slumped pitifully against the cool dark leather of Burke's silver Mercedes as slow, minuscule droplets of rain pattered their tuneless music against the windows, filling the sad yet comfortable silence that fell over George, Burke, and Christina. After taking two days from work to relax the newfound stiffness in his shoulder and wallow in his emphasized misery, at last he was nudged to return to the hospital by Burke, whom he considered to be a close friend, and eventually shoved out the door by Christina, who certainly was not.

So here he was, finally returning to Seattle Grace in Burke's souped-up Mercedes, a pained, desperate mess. As she had bitingly put it, Christina snipped that he had been staring out the window like a "sad little Disney character that lost his mother in some tornado or volcanic eruption or something". George shrugged and stared icily into her eyes in response. Not surprisingly, she smirked, unfazed. No one had bothered to speak up for a while, afterwards.

Burke shifted in the driver's seat uncomfortably and caught a glance at George sitting in the second row of the car, still slumping, still wallowing. He gallantly struggled to break the silence that grew tenser with the increasingly powerful bursts of rain that challenged the tolerance of the car's occupants by turning on the radio, preferably to a smooth jazz station to lighten the atmosphere and get his mind in gear for the day's awaiting surgeries.

"God Burke, not this namby-pamby whiny saxophone music _again_," His difficult girlfriend complained, a disapproving frown spread across her face.

When it came to Christina's opinion, she never left anything to the imagination.

The persistent blows of rain slowly came to a close as the three reached the dismal parking lot of Seattle Grace. Never before had George felt such a strong need for a good, long bypass surgery that involved an intricate pattern of arteries and vessels that he would need to weave through; even operating on a total joint replacement would suffice for his increasing longing to dig into a patient and somehow strip them of their happiness that he longed for so deeply. Almost immediately, George's tired green eyes shot back into focus when reality came crashing back to him and his grim musing came to a sudden halt as Burke parked the car roughly into his reserved parking space, slamming the door shut and making his way to the hospital entrance.

_I should have taken that internship in New Jersey_, George thought openly.


End file.
